The Language of Flowers
by Yavieriel Tarandir
Summary: It's 1912, and Japan gives America a present. America's not really sure what this means, but fortunately England is willing to give him a clue.
1. Sakura

Characters/pairings: America/Japan, England  
>Warnings: smut, wingkink<p>

Author's notes: Originally written for the kink meme lo these many years ago, since then revised and slightly expanded. Beta'd by the lovely Chrysanthemum44, many thanks to her.

.o0o.

.o0o.

"Hey, hey! Arthur, look, Japan sent me flowers!" America says, as he bounces through England's kitchen door.

Looking up over his teacup at Alfred with a single raised eyebrow, England asks, "What _kind_ of flowers?"

America looks puzzled at this and comes to rest leaning against the kitchen table, carelessly wrinkling the tablecloth, perpetual motion briefly stilled. "Does it matter? Flowers are flowers. I mean, it's kind of girly, but Japan's weird like that."

England sighs at America's lack of sophistication and resists the urge to lecture. Instead, he takes a deep breath, savoring the smoky aroma of Earl Grey, and sticks to the point. "Of course it matters. Different flowers have different meanings, idiot. Did you not pay any attention to my lessons at all?"

"Well, no. They were boring," America sulks, scuffing one boot-toe idly across old oak boards polished by years of shoes and sweeping. "I liked the lessons about fighting better! 'Cause I'm a hero, and heroes have to be able to defend people, and kick the bad guy's ass!"

"Of course." He can feel the oncoming headache, and stares mournfully into his cup of tea. "Anyway, what kind of flowers did Japan send you?"

"I think he called them _sakura_? They look like cherry trees to me. He said they were to make my capital more beautiful."

England is suddenly choking on the tea he just took a sip of, and Alfred's kind of worried. What did he do wrong now?

"_Sakura!_ He sent you _sakura_? Just how good of terms are you on with Kiku these days?"

"We're friends, you know that! I've tried to be really nice to him because of, well, everything. Things were pretty rough for him for awhile there, and I still remember what my civil war felt like. You guys scaring him didn't help either."

"Yes, yes. So you're just friends?" It's typical, England thinks, that Alfred only acknowledges how the European powers had intimidated Japan and not the threat that his own black ships had presented. Regardless, it seems not to have discouraged Japan from pursuing a relationship, and he's not sure which of the pair that says more about.

"Well, yeah, what else would we be? I mean, we've made up about stuff."

"Apparently Kiku doesn't feel quite the same," England answered with characteristic dryness.

"What? But, but he was really nice to me last time I was at his house. And he's been visiting my house pretty often, and he hasn't seemed mad at all!"

"I didn't mean he was upset, you imbecile. I meant he's trying to seduce you. Bloody moron. Really, it's not like the two of you haven't been flirting for ages."

Alfred was now gaping. "He- _what_?" He stopped and tried again. Heroes weren't supposed to sound all squeaky like that.

"Oh, come on. All these years and you've never noticed his obsession with cherry trees? Really, how oblivious are you? The two of you have been pretty chummy for decades now."

"Well, I knew he liked them, but, well, they are very pretty. And he likes maple trees almost as much! Anyway, I asked him about it once and he said something about death on the battlefield, and that doesn't sound very romantic at all."

"Well that would be the other meaning, but in this case I'm pretty sure he means that he wants you in bed. Or possibly wants to have sex with you in a grove of sakura. Knowing him that's exactly the kind of thing he'd find romantic. Or kinky, depending on your point of view."

"Wait, so, what am I supposed to do?"

Arthur gives him another of those glares that he's so good at, the 'America-you-idiot' one that Alfred's seen more times than he can count. "What do you think? Go visit him and apologize for being a thick-headed, insensitive American, and tell him just how much you appreciate his gift. Make sure you're wearing clean underwear."

"What? Ohhh. Okay, I think I can do that."

"Good. Oh, and Alfred? I know you're an idiot, but try not to screw this up too much. I'm really rather fond of Kiku. Now get going, you've already wasted enough time."

The door slammed behind America, and England sighed at the return of peace and mourned his now-cold cup of tea. It was going to be quite interesting to see just how those two worked things out, he thought, and Portugal would be oh-so-very-amused by this bit of gossip.

.o0o.

Since he had visited America only recently for the presentation of the sakura, Kiku hadn't exactly been expecting to see Alfred any time soon. America's reception of the trees had been politely enthusiastic and friendly, but the other man was apparently oblivious to any possible deeper meaning to the gift.

Japan had admired America since the other nation had first set foot on his shores, despite the chaos that had followed in his wake. He had hoped that the other might be amenable to closer ties and take the gift as hint, though he had been almost relieved that Alfred was unlikely to catch his meaning. He could declare his feelings with little need to fear the consequences that might follow.

So it was that when Alfred showed up on his doorstep blushing and carrying a dozen red roses, Kiku was understandably a bit surprised, even disconcerted. Actually, he wondered why he hadn't heard the racket of America's new flying machine.

"Hey, Kiku! So, um, you gave me all those trees, and they're really pretty and all, and, well, I wanted to give you something in return, to show that, well, I feel the same way, y'know? If you really meant what I think you mean, because if not we can totally forget this visit and you don't have to worry about it or anything, I won't be mad." Blue eyes looked at him with all the hopefulness of a puppy, and really, even if he had been a bit disappointed by the way Alfred had seemed to ignore his intentions, there was no way he could have stayed mad. It was precisely this willingness to hope that had drawn Japan to him, bright as the sun.

As he paused to take a breath finally, Kiku opened his mouth to reassure Alfred that he did indeed have the right idea, judging by the Western meaning of the flowers he had brought, but the other man was still babbling nervously.

"But anyway, I, um, brought you some roses. They're called American Beauty, and they only grow in my capitol, so I thought they might be appropriate, 'cause they're kind of a symbol of me the way the sakura are a symbol of you, and if you like them, I brought a couple rootings as well, so you can have some for your garden."

When Kiku was sure that this time, the tall blond really had finished speaking, he stepped back from the entrance and gave a polite bow. Really, America had startled him so much he had quite forgotten his manners. The Western nation was oddly good at doing that.

"America-san, come in. I am very sorry to have kept you outside, you must be tired from your journey here." He was gratified when after a moment Alfred politely bowed back and followed him inside. A pointed glance at the blond's feet had him taking off his shoes at the door, and he appreciated that even if America was clumsy about other cultures, he did try, and only had to be reminded of these things.

When they were settled beside a low table with appropriate refreshments, Japan addressed himself to the other man.

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness, America-san. Your gift is very welcome indeed." The blush spreading across high cheekbones was really improbably attractive, Kiku thought. It was easy to forget sometimes that such a powerful nation was so very young.

Broad, callused hands held out the roses in response, and Kiku took them carefully, all too aware of the thorns that America's gifts possessed. The familiarity of cool tatami mats he knelt on reassured him as this suddenly did not seem like such a good idea. It could be all too easy to lose himself in America, without anything but the best intentions from the other nation. But it was too late for such second thoughts now, and America had given him little reason to think his intentions less than honorable. Despite the risks, he could not deny the allure of this golden nation with his crimson roses.

"Would you like to visit the grove where the trees I gifted you came from? They are in bloom now." Sky colored eyes lit up, and Kiku allowed himself a faint smile at Alfred's enthusiasm.

.o0o.

Alfred carries an armful of golden honeysuckle the next day, when they meet beneath the sakura along the banks of the Arakawa. Kiku smiles up at him, dark eyes warm in his pale face as the taller nation pours the tangled stems into slim arms draped in silk.

Japan remembers discussions of flower arranging with England over cups of fine tea, and the meaning England had given for honeysuckle - generous, devoted affection. Alfred is blushing and stammering, unexpectedly charming, as Kiku leads him forward to where he has laid out a picnic, and draws him down to sit.

America has learned this much, that Japan prefers to appreciate the meal, and save conversation for afterwards. So they eat in peace, only speaking of the food. Japan explains how to properly savor the food, what each new thing is and how it should be eaten. Alfred is rapt. New foods are always interesting, but of far more interest to him is the elegance of Kiku's gestures accented by heavy silk sleeves, the soft tones of his voice as he speaks.

When the meal is finished, the honeysuckle catches Alfred's eye again, and he smirks slightly. "Hey, Kiku, has anyone ever shown you why it's called honeysuckle?" He plucks off a blossom and deftly draws the end off, careful not to break the stamen, revealing the tiny bit of sweetness the flower hides. Alfred puts it to his own tongue to show Kiku what he means, humming in pleasure at the taste. Repeating the gesture with another bloom, he hands this one carefully to Kiku. A dainty pink tongue reaches out to catch the drop of golden nectar strung like a bead on the flower's stamen, and Alfred's attention is utterly captured by the delicate gesture, the soft noise of pleased surprise the Asian nation makes at the flavor.

.o0o.

Later, half a bottle of sake gone, America is telling stories, the pale spring sunlight turning to gold where it touches him, sliding down inside his white shirt where he has undone the top few buttons. He is sprawled on the grass, jacket long since tossed aside, petals caught here and there in his hair and on his clothes. Beside him Japan kneels, still neat and precise in formal kimono, obi in its elaborate bow, only the faint blush on his cheeks and the raptness with which he watches the other nation hinting at intoxication. Were he entirely sober, he would not so easily betray his desire.

The more sake they drink, the wilder his stories get, and Japan hears about a mule that talks, a mountain made of crystal, a forester who seems to be a giant and the blue ox that helped him, a man who rode a tornado (Alfred has to explain what a tornado is, but it doesn't seem like something a man could ride). He gestures as he talks, great sweeps of a broad, callused hand, laughing and expansive. Japan catches glimpses of a wide, wild land, so much bigger than his own, a land of extremes, and wonders what it would be like to visit a place so vast. He sees the outlines of it in Alfred, rolling golden fields and mountains that touch the sky and a people wild and independent enough to fill it. Kiku himself is wiry, tough and nimble and quick, but small, self-contained, civilized and refined, and America's presence alone seems enough to bowl him over. As America's tales grow more and more grandiose, Kiku wonders how much of it he is expected to believe. Alfred catches the polite expression of disbelief with a glance of eyes that seem to hint at that "big sky country", and laughs. An accent, broad and drawling to match his sprawling country, has crept into his speech alongside the slur of alcohol.

"Y' aren't takin' me serious, aren'tch ya? They're jus' tall tales, jus' some fun. Come on, y'all have stories too, don'tch ya?" Kiku smiles and murmurs something politely vague, too caught up in watching Alfred to want to spoil the moment with telling of lovers parted and warrior's deaths. He knows these things do not last, beautiful things never do, and if they are declared enemies in the future, so be it. For now he will lose himself in this floating moment beneath the sakura, think of young love for which the flowers bloom, and not the death that stains the petals pink.

.o0o.

So it is that when Alfred leans over, drapes a heavy arm around him, and pulls the smaller nation into a kiss, he leans in to it and kisses back. That vast presence that has sprawled beside him is sharpened, focused on him and he shivers at the sensation. America's kiss is strong, confident; Japan is easily swept up in him, caught and held, overwhelmed for a moment, mouth pliantly opening to a lazily teasing tongue. America tastes of the sake they have been drinking, but underneath the familiar floral scent exotic flavors tease at the edge of perception, sweet apples from his farms and forests and the sharp taste of cities full of factories. When Alfred pulls back to take a breath, Kiku answers the question in deep blue eyes by leaning right back in, chasing after another taste. A hand easily spans the small of his back to pull him in, on to America's lap, and he leans in to the touch, fingers twining in strands of sunlight, deepening the kiss.

Alfred's other hand strokes his hair, petals fluttering down from where they have caught in ebony strands. His hand slides gently down to shoulders to slip beneath the layers of his kimono, push it down to reveal finely boned shoulders white as porcelain. In return, nimble fingers find shirt buttons, baring a strong chest, stroking firmly down and around to slide up his back. He stops at a pair of odd marks that feel like scars when Alfred jerks away in response to his touch there. A shudder runs through the larger nation. Curious, he runs his fingers carefully over the pair of parallel lines that cut across America's shoulder blades from top to bottom, and this time draws a gasping moan, and a pair of hands grabbing his arms to pull his hands away. The flush on Alfred's cheeks and the pleasure in his moan reassures Japan that it is not pain that has drawn such a strong reaction, though. Instead Alfred is fumbling with his cuff buttons, struggling out of his shirt before arching hard and tight as wings burst outward with a sharp cry, deep golden brown feathers shimmering in the dappled light.

Kiku's eyes are wide in astonishment, the urge to touch unbearably strong. Nevertheless he waits until Alfred has caught his breath, seeming just as startled.

"Well, didn't know that'd happen." His eyes are wary, but his voice is confident as he explains, "Just got 'em. I've been keepin' a pretty close eye on some of my people who've been working on making flying machines, and I've been growing these ever since they started managing some successful flights. Most of the time I can keep them hidden, but apparently they've got somethin' of a mind of their own. You don't mind, do you? I know 's kind of odd."

"May I touch them?" His voice is breathless from the desire that is weaving through his veins. Some other might mock America for the strange appendages, but to him it is glorious, to have such a lover.

That certainly wasn't what Alfred was expecting, but Kiku's not running screaming, so he's not complaining. He shrugs, pretending at nonchalance but eyes still uncertain and wanting. "Sure. I don't mind."

Given permission, Kiku doesn't hesitate to explore. He shifts to straddle Alfred's lap, letting him lean in close to draw his hands in long broad strokes across each wing, savoring the sleekness of the stiff pinions. His breath teases at America's ear as he whispers, "Your wings are beautiful." Shivers run beneath golden skin and echo through outstretched wings in response to his touches, and his fingers find their way beneath the outer layer to explore soft down beneath. At that Alfred clutches at him convulsively, pressing him tight against his bared chest.

"Please, ah… please, don't stop, never knew they'd feel so…" His words are lost in moans as he writhes in pleasure at Japan's attentions. He grinds up against Kiku, a strong hand holding narrow hips in place. The other hand fumbles with the obi, managing to untie it despite his clumsiness with the unfamiliar garment. It loosens enough for his kimono to be spread open in front and pushed off of his arms altogether.

Alfred's eyes are wild and fierce as he bends his head for a demanding kiss and pulls his wings in tight around Japan, sheltering and caressing. The feel of feathers on porcelain skin sends shivers down Kiku's spine as he surrenders to the kiss and the hands that are now seeking beneath the layers of his clothing. Unwinding his obi himself, he guides Alfred in untangling the complexities of the traditional clothing, then reaches for the fastenings of Alfred's pants as well.

Now bared, he wraps pale legs around his lover's waist as gentle hands tip him backwards to lie sprawled across his discarded kimono. Alfred follows him down, mantling his wings to make a canopy above them as he kicks his pants off. His mouth is warm and gentle as it explores pale flesh, tasting and testing, drawing out soft whimpers and deeper moans. Delicate fingers return to Alfred's wings, caressing and teasing, gentle tugs and deliberate strokes. Pressed close, they rock together with a rhythm like the changing seasons as the sakura petals fall around them, finding release with slow soft gasps.

.o0o.

.o0o.

Historical notes:

1) The comment to England about scaring Japan is about the Opium War and Japan's fear of getting caught up in it, which was part of the reason they agreed to make a treaty with America, at least according to my Japanese history textbook. Japan also went through a civil war around the same time, partly due to the conflicts created by the sudden introduction of foreigners in to a formerly closed society, but primarily due to economic and social forces which had slowly been destabilizing the rigid feudal system for the past several centuries.

2) At the ceremonial planting of the sakura, the current First Lady gave the wife of the Japanese ambassador a bouquet of American Beauty roses. Also, there were apparently two gifts of sakura, one before the war and one after. This fic is based around the first. I found the information on the Washington D.C. sakura at these sites:

3) Airplanes were being produced in America at this time, having just been invented at the turn of the century. Although flying to Japan from America would have been completely infeasible at this point in the development of aircraft, I figure Alfred would take any excuse to show off his new toy, and not let a little thing like that stop him.

4) Also, I know that the popular sakura viewing spots like this one are generally rather crowded and they'd probably get caught, but this is Hetalia, and fanfic, so we're just going to ignore that and pretend there isn't anyone around to gawk at them.


	2. Epilogue

Characters/pairings: America/Japan  
>Warnings: mild WWII angst (but also plenty of fluff!)<p>

Author's notes: The first part of this has been revised and slightly expanded thanks to some very helpful beta-ing by Chrysanthemum44. The changes aren't too dramatic, mostly style and tone and a few grammar issues, but I'd love it if anyone would care to re-read it! This part is just a short epilogue. (Also beta'd by Chrysanthemum44.)

.o0o.

.o0o.

1965

Many, many years later, they return to that grove of cherry trees, in celebration of Japan's second gift of sakura. They have been through more than even Kiku had imagined, horrors that had been as-yet undreamed of, and slowly mended things again. It was not something he had dared hope for during the war. Somehow, though, they've made it back here, full circle to where they first touched. They are older and less innocent, but maybe a little wiser for all that has happened.

On his first visit to Washington after the war ended, the last thing he had expected was to be greeted with the sight of thousands of sakura in full bloom. The hatred between them had been so thick and strong during the war, born of betrayal and guilt and fierce pride. During the brief times he had been able to sleep, he had dreamed of the day they had shared beneath the sakura, and everything he had hoped might come of it. All his dreams had ended the same, though, the trees burning while they still lay entwined beneath them, consumed by the firestorm that had swept across the world. He grew used to waking with tears on his face and wiping them away before anyone could see. It had only made him hate America more, and he had thought the other nation felt the same.

Initially he wondered if the trees in Washington had somehow been replanted over the decade since the war had ended. Then America had taken his hands, smiling and leading him down into one of the groves. Among the trees he could see their obvious age, not saplings at all but old and deep-rooted. He was so stunned by the sight that he forgot to protest when his – friend? Ally? Not lover, they hadn't even kissed since the war - picked him up like a doll and sat him on a conveniently placed branch. Apparently his shocked open mouth had been too much of a temptation to resist, and he had found himself kissed nearly senseless, coming back to himself leaning against a broad chest, affectionate whispers in his ear and hands gently petting him.

"You- you kept them? I was certain… I…" bewildered, he had stared into sky blue eyes. They looked away from him, dark memories surfacing.

"I thought about it once, y'know. I had an axe and everything, was going to just clear them all out, because it hurt too much to see them every time I came home. I hated you for stabbing me in the back, hated the way you wouldn't let me forget that I had loved you. But then I got down here, in this grove, and I couldn't do it. Every time I raised the axe I saw your face, the way you looked that day, and I couldn't swing. I ended up just sitting here for a while… It was just before the war ended. I've been wanting to bring you back here ever since, but somehow it's never been the right time." America had finally looked at him again, hesitant. This time he'd been the one who had initiated the kiss, softly asking for forgiveness. It had been returned hesitantly, only slowly growing heated. He had known then that although it would take time before things were fully mended between them, their hearts were slowly healing.


End file.
